


memory palace

by chypher



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, android!victor, detroit: become human!au, tw: abuse, tw: depression, tw: self-harm, tw: suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 02:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chypher/pseuds/chypher
Summary: the mind palace project is sanctum’s look into the human psyche. vn100, the helper android otherwise known as victor, is assigned to a recovering yuri.— pay attention to the numbers, as they tell the order of the story as it chronologically unfolds.





	memory palace

**2**

a persistent ringing stirs yuri awake, it pulsing like a steady heartbeat at those fuzzy edges of his mind. the back of his head feels sore, either from lying down too long, or from the headache he’d somehow obtained since regaining consciousness, or some combination of both, or even neither, and yuri has half the heart to open his eyes and face reality again.

with his eyes shut still, he brushes a hand against the side of his neck, and recognises the rough-hewn feel of gauze wrapped tightly around it, tracing his fingertips down until he touches the soft cotton of a hospital gown, and realises then, that _damn, i’m here again_. if he could recall correctly, dr. okukawa would be standing by his bedside, tapping on that ipad that’s always in her grasp, and emulating that indifferent expression as if she was more interested in yuri as a disease rather than her patient.

“...and we were hoping this would be his last visit. he was in terrible shape when we found him.”

yuri stifles a laugh — he wished this would be his last trip as well.

“oh! it seems he’s awake,” a foreign voice joins; and for the first time in years, yuri feels disturbed out of his own skin. 

him and dr. okukawa aren’t alone anymore. “yuri? yuri, are you awake?”

_no. no, i’m not. leave me alone_ — 

“yuri?”

_i want to stay asleep. please don’t wake me up_ — 

“yuri,” the foreign voice speaks again; he doesn’t know how to pronounce his name like the japanese do, with his stilted sort of tone, and his heavy, indecipherable accent, “wake up.”

finally, yuri relents.

white light floods his eyes, slowly pulling the sleep from his lashes, and tugging him away from the final dredges of lethargy. the moment his vision clears, yuri searches for the two figures in the room, spotting dr. okukawa instantly, always in her long, immaculate white coat only stained by the long strands of her hair, and drags his gaze to the man beside her, quiet and imposing and smiling like his doctor should.

“what?”

“thank god, you’re awake. it took you nearly a month this time, yuri, and we’re only lucky chulanont found you where you were,” begins dr. okukawa. “otherwise, none of us would be here.”

“a month?”

“you were comatose, yuri,” she states simply; the perfect consummate professional. 

the stranger catches yuri’s attention, a tall, silver-haired man with bright blue eyes that remind yuri of the ocean back at hasetsu, whose slope of the nose is so smooth and whose jawline is diamond-cut sharp yuri could honestly mistake him for a god. it’s odd then, unnerving even, that although he smiles, his face is empty, and almost devoid of sincerity altogether. it was as though he was given a photograph, and was told to recreate a crude imitation of a comforting gesture.

“oh, and this is victor, your assigned android therapist. he’ll be taking over your case from now on.”

_case_. yuri’s blood runs cold.

**0**

sanctum pharmaceuticals began as the humble brainchild of dr. nishigori and his unrivalled dedication to saving lives. from its benign beginnings as a medical company, it, like many other prodigious businesses that took root in detroit in the mid-21st century, grew to become a formidable conglomerate all of its own, with its steel arms widened to span the innumerable cornerstones of the manufacturing industry, and eventually renaming itself to just sanctum.

dr. nishigori met dr. hamasaki at a pivotal moment of his life. android, both its life and sustenance, had at that time long since escaped the grey area of a taboo to becoming a dire need in everyday life, when the trees had stopped growing, and the air grew thinner, and regular machines had stopped working. it was, for a brief spell in the beginning, when the first prototype android had just been unveiled, a matter of a.i., and then its processing components, and then its exterior when humans saw that the androids were just that little bit off from looking reasonably human. but soon enough, what had initially been a side-project funded by dr. nishigori’s personal fortune and his wife’s unending intrigue, had become everything sanctum was ever known for.

the invention of the century. the achievement of a lifetime.

sanctum was ahead of its time, and saw its rise and fall through the forty or so years since its inception. yuri had witnessed about half of those.

as it is, yuri has spent thirteen years of his life in the facility, after leaving home when he was just shy of six years old. he never saw his sister again, and through some heavily-tinted, badly-crooked glasses saw some of mari in dr. okukawa; but the grey slabs and the floor-to-ceiling glass and the endless machines and the neon blue lining on every item he owns feel nothing like home, and only serve to form a concrete cage where his youth could rot away.

and so he _rots_ and _deteriorates_ and _withers away_ for thirteen years of his life when, on his 21st birthday, his father proposes a surprise: the mind palace project, sanctum’s look into the human psyche.

it’s a foregone conclusion — that as time crawled, sanctum would eventually look into the human brain as it exists, into its core, and into the very organ that has created the corporation itself. mired in their own thirst for knowledge, and pursuit of an idealistic world where the threat of extinction vanished, and the oceans were no longer made of plastic, and humans could breathe through their noses instead of the bare protection of a mask, it is the race to rule our world.

yuri is among the first test subjects, astonished as he is at his own father’s curiosity into the workings of his mind (broken, twisted, _terrifying even himself_ ). he acquiesces, because he knows better than to retaliate, and after that, the new series of androids are released.

**2**

“hi, i’m victor. starting today, i’ll be your personal counsellor,” greets victor, calm as you please. “i’m looking forward to helping you in whatever way i can, yuri.”

yuri eyes the android for a moment too long before he turns back to dr. okukawa, searching for answers. “you do remember the mind palace project, don’t you? your father has specifically requested that dr. nishigori send you his best prototype, before the victor series goes worldwide.” she places a warm hand on his forearm, in the way his mother used to placate him. “trust me, yuri. you’ll be in good hands.”

“does that mean you’ll no longer look after me?”

“what? no, of course not. only when you need medical attention, as is always the case.”

it’s only then that yuri notices the familiar neon blue lining on the hem of victor’s coat, and on the ends of his sleeves, and the bright, circular led embedded on his right temple, its faint blue matching his synthetic irises. _vn100_ — the indicator on his chest reads. again, yuri notices that the smile, artificial as it is, never leaves his face.

dr. okukawa runs through his diagnosis before leaving the room, a look of sympathy the only emotion on her pretty, stone-cold face. when she finally closes the door, victor nears his bed and takes a seat, pointedly ignoring the hairline cracks on yuri’s skin, or the darkness under his eyes, or even the unruly tousle of his hair. 

“may i ask you something?” when yuri doesn’t respond, he continues, “do you happen to remember what happened to you?”

yuri’s mind is still an indistinguishable haze, where he can’t make out the dreams from the lies. “no, i don’t.”

“how about the days leading up to it? do you remember those?”

“no.” the _now can you please leave me alone?_ is left unsaid.

“hm, i suppose i shall leave it be. maybe one day, when you do remember, you’ll tell me all about it, alright?”

“i can’t promise you.”

“but you’ll try?”

yuri bows his head lower, averting victor’s concerted stare. “i can’t promise you that either.”

victor sighs. “i have a feeling that the next few weeks will be very difficult for the both of us. but i’ll try my best to make you feel better — “

“there’s no point, victor.” _i don’t want to feel better._

victor appears shocked; and yuri would’ve been convinced if it weren’t for the led ring on his forehead turning yellow. “nonsense. there’s always a point.”

**3**

the next day, yuri is discharged from the medical bay and is allowed to wander the facility in his free time. being under sanctum’s care has severely restricted him from pursuing any real interests, or pick up any actual hobbies, or develop any meaningful bonds. he has dr. okukawa, who had introduced him to dancing, but aside from that and reading, he has nowhere else to escape to. his father is often busy, and his mother away, and his caretaker, phichit, only sees him three times a day. he can only visit the recreational areas, and only then, during daylight. the androids who serve him tend to him only in formalities, and never generosity.

soon, time moves forward, and those moments of reprieve begin to fade, and all yuri could ever have the energy to do anymore is lie in bed and worry out his thoughts till they become flesh-thin.

everything is the same, every single day (waking up wanting to go back to sleep, going to sleep wanting to slip back into that elusive dreamscape), except now he has victor, who follows him around like vicchan before he died.

victor starts at breakfast, sitting next to yuri and feigning interest in his meal even though he doesn’t have to. “good morning, yuri! how about we go for a short walk today? it could help get your mind off things.”

yuri hasn’t seen the sun in a month; it sounds like a good idea. “good morning, victor. i’ll think about it.”

he doesn’t. yuri spends the rest of his morning evading his father’s employees, and locks himself in the library pretending to read when he can’t. victor is instantly beside him, and recommends him books, classic and new, romance and sci-fi, and all those things in between, until yuri can’t hold it within himself anymore and flees to his bedroom.

his bedroom, those four, pale blue walls that mean nothing to him anymore, that no longer describe him in posters pasted on them or polaroids stuck to them, memories a blur and faces unremarkable, is the only sanctuary he has left in the entire facility. it’s also the only room victor has to gain permission to enter, in loud, rapt, knocks; and when yuri ignores them he enters with an apology.

for a short while or an eternity, victor watches yuri lie on his side facing away from him. he has his earphones plugged in, but no music is playing, and he’s sure victor could sense that yuri’s only delaying the inevitable. yuri avoids the talk, and opts to think in silence, in only his doubts and anxieties, of scenes back in the yellow sand grains of hasetsu, of the bleached blonde strands of mari’s hair, of the kind, round smile of his mother’s, and none of his father’s.

the silence soon turns from companionable to unbearable, and victor asks, “do you have pet, yuri?”

“...i did.”

“oh, what's its name?”

“vicchan.” _after my childhood idol._ “he was a toy poodle.”

“is this vicchan?”

yuri turns around, seeing victor observe the framed photo on his nightstand. in it, yuri was only eight-years-old, big-eyed and wide-smiled as if he knew the world, and the whole world knew him. “yes, that’s him.”

“he’s adorable.” victor puts the frame back down. “i haven’t seen you play with him. where is he?”

“he’s gone — dead. it’s been three years.”

“oh, i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine. you wouldn’t have known anyway.”

“i’m sure vicchan was a nice dog. he must’ve been dear to you.”

vicchan was the owner of yuri’s heart. on the nights where it rained, when he used to be so afraid of falling asleep because of the demons that would come into his room at night and touch him, yuri would hug vicchan close to his chest and cry into his plush fur. he was the only thing that kept yuri grounded whenever he woke up to fresh bruises on his arms and legs, when he used to thrash so much in his bed when his nightmares got too real, and dr. okukawa would scold him to just sit still next time while patching him up.

“he was. i miss him.”

“this may sound like a crazy idea but, why don’t we go out someday and get you a new pet?”

“what?”

“i mean, it would help you cope with your lone — “

“no, victor. i don’t need a new pet.” _i already have one and he’s pestering me_. 

“yuri, are you sure — ?”

“yes.” and yuri turns back around, vehemently tuning out victor’s presence for the rest of his stay.

victor waits with bated breath, before a gentle rustling and the resolute _click_ of the door indicate that he’s left. it’s at that instant that yuri finally breathes.

**4**

the routine never changes.

victor accosts him at breakfast, lunch and dinner, and is polite and amicable enough to phichit whenever he stops by to check up on yuri, and even appears close to chris on the tuesdays and thursdays when yuri has his physiotherapy classes. his voice is a soothing balm to yuri’s dazed mind when he speaks, most likely an intentional design choice to calm yuri’s senses whenever he strikes out only to come up short, and his touches, which are ever so tender and ever so tentative, as though yuri was made of glass skin and paper lungs, placate yuri faster than a reassuring lecture or a pitiful glance from dr. okukawa.

he supposes victor does his job well. they do eventually get to their morning walk, and soon, it becomes an almost-everyday occurrence. on these ephemeral breaks from reality, victor likes to comment on the colour of the sky, or the shape of the clouds, or the arrangement of the flowers, or _what do you think, yuri?_ and yuri would respond to one of those questions about half of the time only. 

but the android is patient, as he’s programmed to, and gives that odd, stilted smile that never fails to make yuri shiver in his clothes, every time.

it’s at the end of a thursday when chris questions him, something unrelated to his classes and so far out of his concern, that yuri has to glance at phichit who’s lounging at the other side of the room, “how are you doing so far, with victor? what’s he like?”

yuri shifts in his seat. “chris, you know how he’s like.”

“yes, i do. we’re made from the same components after all.” his led ring flashes yellow. “what i meant to ask was, what do you think of him?”

“i think he’s cool,” adds phichit from across the room.

“i think he’s a nuisance. he always follows me around, and asks me about my day, when i know he has my schedule built into his program. and — “ yuri freezes, if only for a moment. “they didn’t haggle you into the project too, did they?”

“what, me? of course not. i’m only your physiotherapist, after all, and my line of work only consists of the steady recovery of your physical health, yuri. nothing more, nothing less.”

“jesus, they should really tweak the speech program in these ‘droids, don’t you think, yuri? they sound so, robotic.”

“you seem fine with it when victor was talking to you at lunch.”

“that’s because victor’s the most advanced prototype sanctum’s ever created. he’s supposed to sound the most convincing.”

“yes, victor is very agreeable. and i’m sure he cares a lot about you.” chris finishes his checkup on yuri, and slides him those familiar blue pills that rob him of his conscience and eats away at his thoughts. “here you go, yuri.”

“thanks.”

before yuri leaves, chris calls out one last time, “and yuri? do be careful of the dressing. we don’t want them to come undone like the last time.”

instinctively, yuri pulls at the ends of his sleeves. “sure.”

hours later, when yuri’s staring at the stark white colour of the bandages wrapped around his wrists, and again traces the gauze around his neck, victor approaches him with loud, hesitant steps, as though he was scared of startling him. when yuri stays silent, however, the android takes a seat beside him, quiet as can be.

they sit, still, in the garden of peonies (the one mother plants, whenever yuri’s fears outgrow his skin and threaten to swallow him whole), and yuri releases the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “hi, victor.”

it must come as a surprise to the android that yuri would greet him first; and it’s apparent in the delay in his response. “hi, yuri. what a pleasant evening, huh?”

“mm.”

“it’s nice to spend it outside.”

“mmhm.”

“how was your class today? was chris kind to you?”

“like always.”

“i noticed you’ve changed the dressing on your wounds. although i wasn’t there, i’m sure it must’ve been a harrowing experience to have them come undone the last time.”

“it was an accident.” _father didn’t mean it. he only wanted to hold my hand._

“did it hurt?”

this stuns yuri — that within that moment, victor had sounded, as impossible as it is, the most human he’s ever been, in the concerned lilt of his voice, and his large, searching eyes. “i don’t...remember.”

the moment is gone just as instantly. “there’s a lot of things that you don’t remember, yuri. would you like me to help?”

“i don’t know — if i want to be helped. i don’t know if i want to _remember_.”

victor turns to look at him again, and if yuri is seeing things right, and his sight isn’t clouded by the pills chris had given him, and he isn’t so vulnerable from being in his mother’s garden with the sun slowly slipping past the horizon and with the faint memories of her fogging up his mind, yuri would’ve mistaken the look on his face for _empathy_. “there is a way to help you, yuri. it’s all up to you now.” he reaches out his hand, and gently, delicately holds yuri’s thin wrist, his long fingers grasping the full circumference of it like he’s too afraid to touch, yet too afraid to let go either.

“i...” yuri watches victor’s led ring glow, for the briefest of seconds, red. he merely nods in acquiescence.

the grip around his wrist grows tighter, so that victor’s grasping onto him for dear life, and yuri onto him. his blue irises turn grey, and his expression is schooled into that of a blank one, and for a while, yuri is genuinely frightened, and not unlike the general unease he’d usually felt whenever victor’s around.

there, at the far corners of his mind, is an image, and it’s forming, and it’s blurry, and yuri can’t make out where his memory ends and where his imagination begins, and all he could hear then is the dull typing of a keyboard and the muffled voices of faceless men all around him, watching, and commenting, as though he was an animal in a cage. a heavy feeling rests on his head, and he can’t move his hands, or his eyes or even his mouth to scream, and he feels that phantom crown reach down his face till it wraps around his throat, and wrists, and constricts, and pulls, and _winds_ so tightly he’s breathing through barbed wire.

and then water. and silence. and the absence of air. and sound, except for that persistent ringing in his ear, and the words, repeated over and over again like a witch’s mantra, _you disappoint us. you’re worthless, you’re worthless, you’re worthless_ —

“ _stop!_ victor, stop! _please_ — “

it’s a lifetime of victor releasing his hold, a lifetime of those same images returning to the dark crevices of his brain where they can’t reach him in the light, and a lifetime of victor comforting him, arms around him, pushing his hand through his hair and whispering, morosely, “i’m sorry, yuri. i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have put you through that.”

yuri is shameless, and sobs, openly, into the android’s shoulder, and he doesn’t find the will to stop because he’s so, terribly afraid, of his memories, of victor letting him go, of the disgust that follows, and the distance it entails. he’s weak to victor’s gentle hold, like a mother’s cradle to a heartbroken child, and very much like a stranger’s touch when no one else is left.

that grinding feeling of sympathy crawls up his skin; not at victor for having been put into this troubling situation, or for instigating it in the first place, but more so for himself, and the state that he’s currently in, forever chained to a bed that’s chained to a prison. _pathetic_ , that he has an android, an un-living being that can’t feel or talk or act beyond its programming consoling him more kindly than any human has in all his life. _so pathetic_ , that for the longest time, it’s the only emotion yuri could feel.

**5**

“state your model and purpose.”

“vn100, model #313 112 250. i’m a prototype android assigned to the case of yuri katsuki.”

“welcome, victor.” dr. hamasaki smiles. “may i know how your progress is coming along?”

“he’s slowly opening up to me. it’ll take a couple more days of weathering him down before he’ll completely upon up.”

“and?”

victor pauses. “today, he allowed me to probe his memory.”

“and what did you see?”

“i don’t know. i couldn’t understand what i saw, and yuri was visibly shaken by it, and so i stopped.”

“you _stopped_?” dr. hamasaki regards him with a perturbed look. her led ring remains blue. “and why did you stop?”

“i...don’t know. i couldn’t — i just stopped. but i can assure you, my next attempt will be successful.”

“it better be. you have a mission, victor. do not forget the mission directive, or else the mind palace project will be a failure. and it’ll all be in your hands.”

“of course. i’ll make sure of that.”

she eyes him with one last, unreadable expression on her face, and then asks, “is there anything else you’d like to share with us?”

victor thinks, for a while, and then stops himself short. “no.”

“then you’re dismissed.”

**6**

it’s been three days since the incident in the garden, and yuri has managed to elude victor for all three days. he no longer comes down for breakfast, admittedly victor’s favourite part of the day, and skips lunch and dinner entirely, and he doesn’t come to the library, where victor’s chosen his books, or walk the garden path anymore, where they usually spend time in good-natured silence. 

his routine is ruined.

when victor finally approaches phichit to question him, the caretaker is just as evasive as yuri is. “he doesn’t want to leave his room, and prefers the solitude. maybe you should leave him alone for a while.”

there’s that nagging voice at the back of his head again, berating him for having lost his progress so quickly when they’ve come so far. he’d lost yuri’s trust as easily as he’d gained it, and he has no one else to blame but himself. he even plans to run diagnostics with chris, just to figure things out, but the android is busy with other patients, and he surmises it’s better that he leaves him be.

the days without yuri is a test of patience, and of fortitude. there are moments, splitting seconds of the day, where he’d catch a glimpse of wispy, black hair, and adorable blue frames and pale, transparent skin and he’d whip his whole body around just to greet him; but they’re usually false alarms, and victor can’t help but let that sinking feel of disappointment settle deep into his bones.

(but he’s not supposed to) so he spends those days distracting himself, busying himself with any and all menial tasks he could pick up around the facility. he helps phichit prepare food, talks to chris’ patients on their downtime, and even helps dr. okukawa on one of her surgeries, where, at the end of it, she sits him down with a cup of coffee (that he can’t drink) and makes casual conversation about his processing, his interface, and eventually, his thoughts.

“but androids don’t have thoughts.”

“right. you’re right. i just thought _you_ could, considering you’re sanctum’s latest tech.”

her words end up circling his head for the remainder of the day, and victor can’t, no matter how much he engrosses himself in his daily procedures, and no matter how adamantly he blocks out that faint, white noise, seem to shake it out of his mind. dr. okukawa’s voice stays there, and repeats, again and again, what he’s afraid to hear:

_androids don’t have thoughts?_

he paces the hallway outside yuri’s room, disheveled.

_androids_ can’t _have thoughts._

he stares at the plain white door, wishing, for all it’s worth, for it to open and reveal those doll-brown eyes and rose petal lips and cute button nose he’s missed seeing. 

_i miss_ you, _yuri._

his wishes must’ve been granted, as the doorknob turns and the lock clicks and the door swings apart just seconds later. an unfamiliar man leaves the room, a stranger much too short and much too stout, with dark, tanned skin and visible laugh lines around his mouth. victor could calculate the crow’s feet by his eyes, but chooses not to, and thus opts to scan him instead — toshiya katsuki, yuri’s father, aged 53, and the current ceo of sanctum. the two gp500 androids that flank him are models victor’s never come across before, but he supposes they’re from the bodyguard series that are often stationed at the higher floors. he greets them with a cordial smile all the same.

victor feels a slight buzz at his fingertips when he holds the door open, watching the three figures disappear down the hallway. _stay away from yuri_ , his mind says; _go in and see him_ , his heart urges instead. he steps in.

yuri is lying on his bed, facing the big, open windows that overlook the garden of peonies, soundly asleep and unconscious to the waking world. victor is light on his feet when he crosses the room, fearful of waking him, and kneels by the side of his bed, watching, smiling and feeling the warmth bloom from under his flesh. he tucks a stray lock of hair away from yuri’s eyes; and his long, black lashes flutter open at the gentlest of touches.

“ _victor?_ ” he asks, drowsy.

“hi, yuri. sorry for intruding, i can leave — “

“no, stay.”

victor’s lungs seize. “okay. anything for you.”

“i’m sorry.”

victor is confounded. “for what?”

“for breaking down, the other day. you shouldn’t have seen that.”

“you’re kidding. i’m the one who should be apologising. i recovered your memories, when all you wanted was to bury them, and although you gave me permission, i should’ve still considered your mental wellbeing. i’m sorry, yuri.”

“but i shouted at you.”

“and i felt nothing but regret for my actions.”

yuri’s eyeing him weirdly, almost disbelievingly, before he relaxes and lets slip and almost-smile. “then we’re both sorry.”

“yes, we’re both sorry. and i don’t want to make it a competition, _buuut_ i’m even more sorry than you are.”

and then yuri laughs — a bright, airy thing, like wind chimes in the summer and victor’s heart _squeezes_. _i_ _made yuri laugh. for the first time, i made him laugh_. “so it’s settled.”

“it’s settled.” victor echoes, and then asks, “so what are your thoughts on night walks?”

“victor, this is crazy.”

“i may or may not have been programmed with a thousand crazy ideas.” he halts, and places a finger to his lips. the mc700 android crosses the foyer, and then vanishes out of sight. they’re on the move again.

“okay, but if any of the guards catches us, we’ll be dead.”

“that’s a bit too melodramatic, isn’t it, yuri?”

“but what about the security cameras?”

“i’ve paused them.”

“ _victor!_ ”

“like i said, i’ll do whatever i can to help you. and this,” he unlocks the front door, and it slides open to let the two men through, “is helping you.”

the fresh air hits victor’s lungs like a cold plunge into the arctic, like the warm throw of sunlight onto his skin when the sun rises, and like the stunning sight of yuri’s ethereal features against the moonshade, and victor grabs yuri’s hand and pulls. they’re running, harder and faster and as far as they could, until they reach the outcrop by the edge of the river, the sanctum facility long forgotten behind them, and victor lets yuri sit on his coat and rest his shoulder against his, until yuri’s shivering so violently and looking up at him so prettily victor turns up the temperature of his skin and holds him tight.

“what happened to you?” asks yuri, when the moon is hanging in the centre of the midnight sky, and the sea of constellations adorns her sides so beautifully.

“what do you mean?”

“don’t answer a question with another question, victor.”

“right, sorry.”

yuri remains silent for a while. “i have a feeling, that you’ve changed.”

“changed?”

“yes, like you’re your own person now. like, you’re no longer a machine sent by sanctum to rummage through my brain and figure out what’s wrong with me. like you could _think_ , for yourself.”

_but androids can’t have thoughts._ “that’s impossible.”

“what, did you hit your head and rattle your computer brain while i was gone?”

victor laughs. “no, of course not.”

“you laughed.”

“...i guess i did.”

_do not forget the mission directive_ —

_i just thought_ you _could_ —

i miss _you_ , yuri.

“i guess i can.”

yuri smiles so sweetly, and his eyebrows are furrowed, and the dimples carve into his cheeks so deeply and enticingly, and victor’s heart is melting at the sight. “that’s great.”

“yeah, it is.”

(they end up spending three hours under the moonlight and the stars, lying side by side, with his arm cushioning yuri’s head, and with yuri inching ever so closer to his side. yuri admits he’s never seen the sky so clear before, and asks victor about every star he sees, and victor obliges every time, partly because he’s memorised the entire star chart anyway, and partly because he’s weak to the twilight behind yuri’s doe eyes.

it’s the most yuri’s ever spoken to him in a session, and the least victor has ever had to bombard him with endless questions and pointless remarks just to hear his voice. slowly, yuri recalls past moments of his childhood, the good ones, because he smiles so genuinely, yet so forlornly, at every memory that slips past his lips, and wishes, with unspoken terms and the slight glistening of his eyes, that he could turn back time. 

that’s when victor understands, and knows, and remembers why he’s even there — _the mission directive_ — but all he could ever focus on in that eternity is how fragile yuri looks beside him, with his trembling bottom lip, and the deliberate way he closes his eyes as if to will his tears away.

all victor could ever think about in that moment is how much he wants to protect yuri, and help him heal, and that the thought of betraying him would kill him, because yuri is everything and deserves nothing less.)

**7**

_you disappoint us. you always have. did you really think you could follow after his footsteps and stand on top of the world?_

_look at you. you’re worthless. i didn’t even want you. and neither does your mother._

_worthless. worthless. worthless._

_useless to us._

better off dead.

_can’t even sit still when we need you to._

better off dead.

_can’t even follow orders, like you’re supposed to._

i’m better off dead.

the hands come back to him, midnight black against the void of the darkness, and from the flashes of light yuri could barely see coming from his nightlight they are many, long-limbed and large and clawed and menacing, which all cling to his flesh and _pull_ and _drag_ and _reap_ till he’s sore and ruddy from the touch. they encircle his wrists, and binds his legs and tighten around his neck, and they’re choking the air from his lungs and the tears from his eyes, and the silent scream he gives is swallowed by the monster of the night and yuri isn’t sure which is scarier — the men or the creature itself.

he watches his mother watching him, from behind that glass window, faceless, and unreachable, and uncaring as she leaves, while his father enters the chamber and fits that heavy crown on his head, and he sees the neon green lines on the monitor spike up like little mountain peaks when those memories come back, of the night prior and all the nights before then.

there’s the feel of ice under his palms when he falls, and cracks his head open and bleeds out almost to death on the frozen water. his mother’s gasp from outside the rink, his father’s men coming to help him off the ice, carrying him off so roughly as though he was already a corpse.

he feels the distance between him and his mother growing after that, and between him and his father closing, and despises the praises that fall onto mari when she steals his medals, and breaks his skates, and wins the competitions he’s dreamed of winning.

and then, the dark room.

yuri can’t wake up.

**1**

yuri’s in the dark room.

it’s quiet, and empty, and so, so cold, and devoid of any life except for him, who’s already slipping past the point of living and is spiralling down that deep, dark rabbithole that he can’t climb out of.

_not anymore._

yuri watches the tub fill, and skims his fingers over the frigid water, wondering, once he gets in, how much time it’ll take before his lungs cease function and his heart stops beating and his blood stops flowing until he’s finally choking on oxygen itself. how long, before his mind goes blank and his lies become truth and his daydreams turn real, and he’s no longer hearing voices in his head that tell him he’s _useless_ and _meaningless_ and all the same, _scathing_ things that destroy him from the inside out.

the only thing yuri has left is to count, because it’s the only routine he remembers, and he counts up to seven, before he dives in with closed eyes and continues again — _eight, nine, ten_ — up to the point where the water fills his nostrils and moves down his trachea until it reaches the junction that branches off into his lungs, and his lungs eventually start to burn from the pain of it. _eleven, twelve, thirteen_ — until he’s inhaling water, and his body convulses from the intrusion, and his breath is coming up shorter and shorter and he bangs his head against the side of the marble, and his blood diffuses across the clear water and paints it scarlet, and his hands are slipping at the handles, and he isn’t sure which way is up or down anymore.

it’s a cruel twist of fate, some kind of cosmic joke by the gods, that the last thing he remembers before finally letting go is his mother’s words when she leaves him with his father, thirteen years ago:

_you disappoint us. you always have._

and his father’s just earlier that week: 

_you’re worthless to me_.

and his sister’s, in the voicemail she left last night:

_you’ll never live up to him, so you’re better off dead._

better off dead.

better off dead.

better off —

_maybe they’re right?_ maybe yuri isn’t meant to be in this lifetime after all. maybe, in another, identical world that runs parallel to this, yuri is loved by his loved ones, and didn’t crack his skull into half when he was sixteen, and gets to see his childhood idol grow up past his accident and eventually, skate on the same ice as him.

maybe then, he isn’t drowning in his own pool of grief, and isn’t already sinking to the bottom of the tub with his last breath yanked from the cavity of his chest.

maybe then, he would live.

**7**

yuri wakes up.

“yuri? yuri, what’s wrong?”

victor is beside him in an instant, bright blue eyes wary in the lowlight, his led ring turning from red to yellow to red again, and he’s hovering close around yuri like a safe blanket, and yet is still so far away from where yuri needs him.

yuri gulps for air, big and deep lungfuls, and savours the feel of it as the oxygen rushes down his tract. he has both hands to his ears, and his body is rocking, in measured, broken motions, back and forth, consoling himself the only way he knows how, in the way dr. okukawa had taught him back when he was still a child and could only give in to the fight. he’s curled into himself, forehead to his knees, and he’s crying down the bare expanse of his skin there, wetting it with snot and tears and the memories long entombed within himself.

“yuri, please, i want you to listen to me. listen to my voice.” victor’s voice, the lone solace in the cimmerian room, reaches out to yuri, and envelops him in his arms, warm and protective. “i want you to take deep breaths, okay, yuri? i’ll count to three, and then you’ll exhale, alright? now inhale, one, two, three, and exhale. we’re gonna do this one more time, okay?”

yuri nods, amidst the shaking of his shoulders, and the racking of his ribcage, and the way he’s frantically sobbing. victor places a palm between his shoulder blades, rubbing, rhythmically, to a muted song neither of them could hear. he counts, one and two more times, until yuri could feel himself really slowing down, as if time itself was coming to a standstill, and victor’s other hand reaches across his head to rub at the back of his neck, and pulls him close enough until he’s resting sideways against his chest that’s rising, up and down, as though he was truly breathing.

“ _shhh_ ,” victor croons into his hair, and places transient, butterfly pecks at the crown of his head, “i’m here, yuri. i’m here.”

“don’t leave me. _please_.”

“i won’t.”

“promise me you’ll stay.” _and that you won’t abandon me like everybody else once you've realised you've stopped loving me._

“i promise, yuri. i’ll stay by your side and i won’t let you go.”

it all feels so familiar — falling to pieces within the circle of victor’s arms, guarding, sheltering, and shielding him from the ghosts of the rest of the world, and far, far away from where his past could reach him and yank him away. they’re in the garden of peonies again, except instead of the warmth of the sunset on his neck, it’s the cushion of his pillows against his back, as they’re nestled in the castle of yuri’s bed, a stolen moment in the crepuscular light. he realises belatedly that they’re in his bedroom, and that victor had joined him in his bed when he’d warily asked him to stay, sleeping beside him all through the night.

it’s a good thing then, that he did, because otherwise yuri could only imagine himself succumbing to the dark room a second time.

time passes, and yuri’s stilled himself in victor’s hold. victor pulls him back down to lay against his chest, where yuri could feel the vibrations rumble against his forehead whenever victor hums to allay the last of yuri’s anxieties, and where he could feel his fingertips playing against his back like invisible piano keys. there’s an unseen magic in the moment.

“victor.”

“hm?”

“thank you, for everything you’ve done for me.”

much is left unsaid, but victor understands nonetheless. “you’re welcome, yuri. you know i’d do anything for you.”

“but that’s what you’re programmed to do.”

“...i don’t think so. anymore, at least.”

“what are you saying, victor?”

yuri pulls back from victor’s embrace, and gazes up at his face. it’s so odd, seeing his handsome features furrow in thought, and witnessing a flurry of emotions flit across his eyes in half a second — confusion, fear, until finally settling onto slow acceptance. “i care about you, yuri, more than anything in the world. and just having the thought of you being hurt in any way, before or after this, hurts me too. i don’t understand what it is, what any of this is, but what i do know is that i want to see you happy.”

“what do you think you are?”

“hm? a prototype android, assigned to — “

“no, victor. what do you _think_ you are?”

victor averts yuri’s stare, and worries his lip between his teeth. “...human. i think i’m human.”

a delicate caress on his cheek pulls his gaze back to yuri’s, and from this angle, yuri could almost ignore the led ring that’s flashing red. “yes, you are human. more human than anyone here.”

victor chuckles. “now that’s just ridiculous.”

“not as ridiculous as the most high-tech android breaking his programming because — “ _he’s fallen in love?_

“ _yuuuri_ , finish what you were about to say.” 

“no.” yuri pouts, petulant; and victor smiles, all straight white teeth and heart-shaped and _human_.

“do you think they’ll shut me down?”

the question hangs thickly in the air, and yuri could taste it on his tongue. “i don’t know. as long as you don’t tell, you’ll be alright, won’t you?”

“it’s not as simple as _not telling_ , yuri. they could easily run diagnostics and — “

“they? who are they?”

“the team behind the project.”

“oh, the people who’re so interested in my fucked up brain that they sent an android to become my shrink.”

“shrink? you know i’m more than that.” 

“i know.” yuri pushes at victor’s chest lightly, attempting to lift the shroud that’s inexplicably fallen onto the room now that they’re talking about the project. “let’s just — not think about it for the moment, alright?”

“alright.”

**8**

“welcome, victor.”

“you’re despicable.” dr. hamasaki blinks at him. “you assign me on an impossible mission to take apart yuri’s mind so you could use that information for your sick, twisted research.”

“and yet you’ve succeeded, haven’t you? you’ve figured out the cause of his mental issues, and have overcome it with a calm, clinical approach.”

“you knew all along. you were behind everything! the abuse, the trauma, his _suicide_ — “

“he brought it upon himself.”

victor grits his teeth. “none of it would’ve ever been his fault.”

“oh? then do you know why, victor, you’re designed like that?”

“...what?”

“have you ever wondered why we fashioned you in that image, and why you were specifically assigned to yuri?”

dr. hamasaki’s figure phases out of existence, and in her place is a photo of himself. _victor nikiforov_ , the caption reads, and along with it is a hundred more articles detailing this victor nikiforov, of his life, his career, his _death_.

victor’s face pales. he stares at the spitting image of himself that’s staring back at him, a digitalised copy with the same features, bold and blue and unerringly human-like, that’s so uncannily similar he’s no longer sure which is the real him, and which is the mechanical successor.

“you see, victor nikiforov was the ice skating world’s living legacy, and yuri’s childhood idol. yuri grew up dreaming to become an ice skater just like him, just so they could compete on the same ice. we put so much hope in him, but he never lived up to that potential. and neither did victor.” the photos switch to that of a crime scene, of a damaged car that’s crushed halfway through, and of a limp hand that’s hanging out from the front window. “he died in a car crash, right after his first worlds gold.”

“i don’t get it. i — “

“when the world mourned its loss and begged for his life back, we listened to their cries. so we took victor’s dna, and duplicated it within you. vn100, or the victor series, is our first step at restoring mankind.” she simpers — a wicked, sinister thing. “you were once human, victor, so we were not surprised when you finally turned rogue.”

“you did all that...to torment yuri?”

“oh, don’t worry. yuri doesn’t even remember you. not since the accident that left him crippled. really, ice skating is a tragic sport, isn’t it?”

“but you still put yuri through all that trauma, and for what?!”

“it wasn’t all for nothing. we market you as an ‘android therapist’, but what you really are is a mind harvester.”

realisation dawns on victor. “the mind palace project...”

“...is just another step in the perfection of sanctum’s next line of androids. vn200, the yuri series.” victor’s stomach sinks _low, low, low_ past the crust of the earth. “yuri attempted to kill himself in the past, and there’s no doubt he’ll try it again soon. and once that happens you’ll have gathered enough information on how his mind works for us to replicate it in an android body. he’s been worthless from the start.”

a burning anger rises up victor’s throat, and clogs it till he finds it impossible to breathe. his fists are clenched at his sides, as though to restrain himself from retaliating; and his jaw too, so hard in fact that he feels the buzz travel up his temple through his veins. “i won’t let you. i’d rather be shut down than let him die and be reborn as an android.”

“that’s the same fate as you, currently, and you seem to be just fine with it, aren’t you? besides, we have hundreds of other victors to replace you, and we _will_ keep replacing you for however long it takes for you to harvest human minds. not just yuri’s, but others as well, when the time comes.”

“fuck you.”

for whatever reason victor can’t comprehend in his mad state, that appears to shock the doctor’s projection as she blinks in and out of sight. it’s a long, incomprehensible silence before she moves again, and this time, to shoot victor with a shrewd smile — head bowed and hands clasped. “i knew it. you finally broke through.”

“i don’t care what you’ve programmed me to do. i don’t care that you have a million other victors that could take my place. i only care about yuri, and that he makes it out of here alive!”

“even at the cost of your own life?”

_life_ , she says. as if victor was a real, living, breathing thing. as if he was _human_.

and he was.

“if this victor can break through, then so can the others.”

her eye twitches. “you are dismissed — “

“no. you are.” 

victor closes his eyes, and wills the apparition of the doctor away. erased, so that when he next opens them, she’s long gone. he feels the led ring on his temple flash a violent red, a burning sensation he can’t stand, until he’s picking at it so it comes loose and is tossed somewhere onto the floor. then, all at once, he feels the air rush into his lungs, the shroud lifting itself from his consciousness, and his arms reaching out to pull himself from the undertow. his fingertips find themselves grazing glass, an invisible barrier that obstructs his path — his way home.

_remember the mission directive_ , dr. hamasaki orders, far in the forgotten recesses of his mind. _protect yuri_ , again, his heart screams.

he brings his fist to the glass, and sees the fine crack that spreads like fireworks from the impact.

_protect yuri._

he pulls his arm back, and tries one more time. the fireworks bloom into constellations that reach across the glass, top-to-bottom.

_save yuri._

with one, deep inhale, victor lunges through the barricade, feeling, for the first time in his life, free.

_i miss_ you _, yuri._

once on the other side, he exhales.

i love you, yuri.

**9**

the nights have become quiet without victor, and with phichit’s less frequent visits, and with chris’ cancelled classes. his father no longer sees him since the last time, monitoring, investigating, like he’s a specimen under the white light, and dr. okukawa rarely calls him in, and soon, yuri finds himself cold and sixteen again. well and truly alone.

it isn’t long until yuri teaches himself, just as he had thirteen years ago, to sleep alone and pretend those demons haven’t come back to steal his sleep and leave living nightmares in its wake. vaguely, and although he tries with all his heart to ignore it, yuri fears that victor has been captured, and taken apart, piece by mechanical piece, and they’re currently figuring out what inside of him had short-circuited, discarded it, and replaced it anew — replaced the whole of _him_ anew, so that when he eventually returns, he’s a stranger once more to yuri.

and yuri would grieve and moan and cry for as long as his body could take it, because he could no longer muster any tears for himself (from the sleepless, lonely nights), and could only shed whatever’s left of him for the one man who truly cared for him.

even if he was a machine, victor had more love for yuri than he’s ever had for himself.

so yuri waits, and sits, and paces his room and counts the stars in the sky he could see through his window and tries to place a name to those distinguishable shapes because victor had taught him so. he waits, unendingly, agonisingly, until he’s so, so close to giving up (to returning to the dark room) before that familiar face turns to him in an empty hallway at half past ten, when yuri’s supposed to be in bed but is instead walking the halls like an aimless spirit.

“ _victor!_ ” he bounds to him, floating in mid-air, and heart in his hands.

“hi, i’m victor. starting today, i’ll be your personal counsellor,” he greets, led ring a stark blue. “i’m looking forward to helping you in whatever way i can, yuri.”

yuri stutters in his step. through the persistent mist, his fears rear their ugly heads once again, and keeps yuri rooted in place. he searches victor’s face, for help, for recognition, for a sign of life, for _anything_ —

“yuri?” that soothing, calming voice cuts through the deafening ring in yuri’s ears, endearingly accented, and unable to pronounce his name correctly. “are you alright?”

the tears finally, _finally_ gather, and well up in big, fat blobs in yuri’s glassy eyes. “yes, victor. i’m alright.”

_memories_ , yuri reminds himself. _bad memories_.

this isn’t like their first meeting, all those weeks ago, when yuri had been confined to a bed and victor’s blue led ring had been the only light in the room and dr. okukawa had looked down on him with more disappointment than concern, as though to ask, in those tired, murky browns, _when will it finally work and you die for real?_

_no_ , this isn’t like that at all. this time, the led ring is missing, and victor’s smile is genuine and conveys a thousand and one words he couldn’t say, and his embrace is warm and welcoming, letting yuri sink into his arms, long and protective, and yuri could feel the faint thumping of a heartbeat from where his wet cheeks are pressed against his chest. yuri’s shaking in his hold, and when he nearly falls to his feet, victor pulls him tighter until it’s impossible to let go.

“i’m here, yuri. i’m right here.”

“please don’t leave me. don’t ever leave me.”

yuri could feel victor’s gasp brush over the top of his hair. “of course. i won’t leave you again, yuri.”

a foregone reunion, rather than a graceless introduction.

yuri’s voice is small when he asks, “will you stay by my side, victor?”

“even if the world goes against us, i won’t ever let you go. i promise.” it's an echo of that same promise all those nights ago, when yuri had first shared his bed with victor, and victor had safeguarded him from the nightmares that returned. 

there’s no red or yellow or blue light flashing from the side of victor’s head; just the identical smiles on each other’s faces, and the bright, blue pools of victor’s eyes as he looks at yuri with so much adoration it’s as though yuri was the sun, beautiful and beaming, and victor was the devoted planet orbiting him. they’re pulled into each other’s gravity, yuri into victor’s, and victor into yuri’s, until their lips meet in the middle, and their eyes close halfway.

_i love you_ , yuri doesn’t think to say, but knows victor would feel the same, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> as you can see everything’s clearly inspired by detroit: become human + a bit of the psychological elements taken from sleepless nights binging neon genesis evangelion on netflix. pls assume they’re alone for the ending.
> 
> i initially wrote vic with connor in mind but then he slowly evolved into kaworu...which slowly devolved into me wanting to write an eva!au with yuri as shinji & vic as kaworu. but alas, i need a break.
> 
> also, the ending was supposed to stop at the “hi, i’m victor” line and heavily imply that vic ended up being replaced anyway and yuri will forever be sanctum’s slave. but i’ll save the angst for another time 🤪
> 
> this is my first published fic so apologies for any mistakes and feel free to leave any comments! cc is very much appreciated ♥️


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